


A Quick Drop In

by bootson



Category: Bandom, Cobra Starship, Gold Motel, Hush Sound, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Steampunk, F/M, Get Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-10
Updated: 2012-01-10
Packaged: 2017-10-30 04:44:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/327864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bootson/pseuds/bootson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>A vaguely Steampunk AU.</i> When Brendon was unceremoniously dropped onto the deck of the <i>Gold Motel</i>, he wasn't exactly conscious enough to build up any expectations. If he had been, a party barge led by Greta and her mix-matched crew probably wouldn't have been it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Quick Drop In

**Author's Note:**

> [This](http://brian.carnell.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/03/lego-steampunk-airship.jpg)
> 
> is vaguely what I was picturing when I was imagining the airship. Giant thanks to [](http://pikasafire.livejournal.com/profile)[**pikasafire**](http://pikasafire.livejournal.com/) and [](http://dr-jasley.livejournal.com/profile)[**dr_jasley**](http://dr-jasley.livejournal.com/) for being wonderful and speedy betas! Originally posted [HERE](http://bandomstuffsit.livejournal.com/31765.html) at [](http://bandomstuffsit.livejournal.com/profile)[**bandomstuffsit**](http://bandomstuffsit.livejournal.com/) as a gift for someone who dropped out.

 

So this was how it was going to end: a long fall off the airship he’d been working on for _years_ all because his prissy captain had finally had enough. If Spencer wasn’t on sabbatical, this never would have happened. And that was a stupid fucking thought to be having when he was suspended in mid-air, staring at an ironically clear sky, jacket flying the wrong way with gears and grease spilling from his pockets.

Brendon’s priorities had always been a little backward.

There were voices, a commotion, and music. Brendon didn’t think he’d been so close to the ground but –

No more than thirty seconds after he went airborne, he was crashing into something squishy and unerringly white. The sound of splintering wood was followed by a dull _thump_ that Brendon thought was probably his head hitting the ground.

“What in _hell_ is going on?” A female voice cut through the buzzing.

Brendon tried to sit up, pushing up onto his elbows just in time to see a feisty looking brunette glare at him with her hands on her hips. Opening his mouth, Brendon meant to say something – not that he knew what that was – but everything suddenly swam to the right, immediately pitching back to the left so fast Brendon felt a little sick. The spots swimming around in his vision didn’t help anything.

“You okay?” The woman asked, starting to sound less irritated and more concerned.

He would have answered, but everything went dark.

****

Brendon was in a fuckton of pain. His head was pounding, his entire body ached, and something thick and sticky was making it hard to lift his hands to shield his eyes. What in the hell did he… Oh.

He took a breath, trying to keep himself under control long enough to figure out what was going on. Beyond crashing onto a ship, Brendon was a little blank. Flexing his arms, he breathed a sigh of relief that he wasn’t bound to anything.

Cracking his eyes open, he was surprised to see he was inside with sunlight streaming in through the windows, painting a streak across the center of the room. The sun felt too close, clouds directly within sight when Brendon’s eyes finally adjusted. That coupled with the low _clanks_ coming through the back wall and the gentle _hum_ vibrating through the floor made it pretty obvious that Brendon was still on an airship. The room, an apparent _guest room_ , was entirely too immaculate to be anything aboard the _Candlestick Swan_.

Wiggling around, Brendon was able to get himself situated with his back against the headboard. There were going to be bruises, but nothing felt broken, which was a plus.

While Brendon was cataloguing each individual strained muscle, the door creaked open. He tensed involuntarily and couldn’t quite suppress his groan at the aches shooting through his body.

A short blonde was in the doorway, long hair in loose ringlets down over her shoulders. She was wearing a dark pink corset over a fluffy white blouse and a brown skirt that curved in this _really_ amazing way around her body.

She was speaking to someone in the hall but offered up a bright smile when she turned to catch sight of him. “Lovely, you haven’t died! Gave us quite the fright, though I would rather like to know why you crash-landed into my cake and ruined the Bryar wedding reception.”

Brendon watched her lips move, heard words, and promptly managed to completely forget how to turn on his brain-to-mouth filter. “You’re really beautiful.”

Apparently, he’d hit his head harder than he thought.

The woman’s eyes widened. “Oh, you have a concussion. That’s fun. Give us a minute.” She spun around, marching out into the hall and yelling for someone just as the door closed.

The commotion made him wince enough to make his muscles protest. He spent some indeterminate amount of time – he swore an hour but knew it may have only been ten minutes – rolling around and moaning about his lot in life.

When the door opened again, someone younger and very male stepped into the room.

“You have interesting hair,” Brendon told him, earnestly.

“Thanks. I’m Ian, sort of the make-do medic. And you’re covered in cake. Which is really unfortunate.” Ian plopped down onto the bed, seating himself on the edge near Brendon’s hip. “Greta never lets us taste-test cakes that are actually _for_ guests, and what you’re wearing is this new chocolate-cherry thing she’s been hording for weeks.”

Brendon looked down at himself, hardly paying attention to the way Ian was looking him over and poking at joints. There were thick lines of pink and white sugar covering Brendon’s arms and the backs of his hands, between the lines were dried bits of dark red crumbs. Dried cake _would_ make sense. Licking his lips, he thought he may have gotten a taste. While Ian moved on to pulling the blankets back to check out Brendon’s legs and asking Brendon to wiggle his toes – where the hell were his shoes? – Brendon took the chance to lick his arm.

Even dry and a little crusty, the cake was pretty killer. Ian huffed a laugh, and Brendon held an arm out.

“It’s a really good cake. Want to try?”

“Let me see your eyes.” Ian sat up straight, leaning across the bed to get a good look at Brendon’s face. “You’re strange. I mean, you don’t _look_ like you’re concussed, but…”

“Oh. No, I’m always like this.” Brendon tried out one of his winning smiles. When Ian didn’t do more than look at him, Brendon shrugged. “I’m covered, man. Take it or leave it.”

“I’m good,” Ian laughed. “Greta’s going to fucking love you. Victoria might attack you - “

Brendon choked a little as he licked another line of frosting off his arm. “Attack me for destroying a cake or to lock me up until you can get a policeman here?”

Ian’s eyebrows shot up. “Uh. Neither? Mostly she’s going to attack you for being less badass than we figured.”

“Oh,” Brendon said. “Good. I don’t like death, maiming, or jail. That’s a win then.”

“Yeah, Dallon’s going to want to keep you forever. This is amazing.” Ian leaned back on his elbows on the bed and laughed.

“Who are all these people?”

“Oh. Right, yeah. You haven’t seen Dallon yet. Victoria yelled at you, and Greta was here before me?”

“The scary brunette and the pretty blonde?”

Ian tilted his head and stared toward the window for a moment. “Yeah, that’s about right.”

****

When the sky was already shifting from rosy sunset shades to a dark purple, Brendon managed to drag himself out of his room. He’d taken Ian’s advice and rested up before trying to scrape all the dried dessert off. His skin was easy enough, using the water Ian had brought in with a basin; his clothes were a lost cause, though. His shoes, at least, had been placed by the door and apparently missed most of the whole cake debacle.

Brendon liked to be thankful for the little things.

He stumbled into the hall, catching himself against the far wall when he failed to realize there was a ledge. Whoever had built this airship didn’t take into account how drunk passengers tended to behave. Brendon was going to have _words_ with someone.

Granted, that would mean he had to _find_ someone first. For an airship that had been full of party-goers – which was a novel concept to Brendon – the the only sounds Brendon could hear were typical airship sounds.

Ian had said something about turning left, right, another left, then straight out to the stairs that led to the deck. His memory probably wasn’t even accurate; Brendon would rather take his chances with wandering.

His movements were a little stiff, body loosening with every few steps he took down the corridor. He might ache for a few days, but Ian was probably right in assuring Brendon that death wasn’t imminent. Well, not from the fall, anyway. Once the _Gold Motel_ docked somewhere, Brendon would have to find work pretty fucking quickly, or he’d starve and/or freeze to death.

Hopefully, he could track down Pete and Patrick. Failing that, maybe he could play the pity card with the Ways. Gerard usually needed help with repairs and would probably put Brendon up for a couple weeks.

Brendon was still running through contingency plans when a door swung open in front of him. On instinct, Brendon froze. He wasn’t sure if he was a guest or just a nuisance so it was best not to go bumping into anyone who might be too irritated with him this early on.

The blonde – Greta – from before, popped out. There was a streak of flour across her forehead where she must have been swiping at the hair falling loose from the pins. Brendon tried to remember his manners, but Greta didn’t give him a chance to make a fool of himself.

“You’re moving! That’s good to see. Little help?” She disappeared back through the doorway, leaving Brendon little choice but to follow.

Brendon stepped into a room that was much more brightly lit than the corridor. He squinted for a moment before taking in the room. There seemed to be a lot going on: mixing bowls, miscellaneous ingredients Brendon had no idea how to manipulate, and a copper-coated oven unlike anything Brendon had ever seen.

“Um. Wow.”

“I know, right?” Greta laughed, a bright happy sound that tugged at the corners of Brendon’s lips. “It took a while to figure out how to make everything work without burning the whole ship down, but Bob’s magic with this. Too bad he got married and plans on leaving us all behind.”

“Bob would be?” Brendon had only gotten a few details out of Ian, but he couldn’t remember any _Bob_ being mentioned.

“Oh. Right, sorry.” Greta waved a hand and snatched up a large pan. “Over here. This always goes much easier if someone can hold while I scrape.” She set the pan on the center counter and lifted a wooden spoon. “That there. Are you up to holding it?”

“Sure,” Brendon shrugged. He lifted the bowl, rolling his shoulders when it turned out to be much heavier than he’d anticipated. Mostly ignoring the pull, he redistributed his hold and tilted the bowl over the pan Greta had set out. “I’m Brendon, by the way.”

“Greta. Welcome to my ship, by the way. I hate that your first look at it was so unflattering.” She began scraping the light brown batter from the bowl, spreading it carefully down the length of the pan.

Brendon snorted. “Your ship kind of saved my life. I’m pretty sure she’s my absolute favorite right now.”

“Well, when you put it that way.” Shaking her hair back over her shoulders, Greta spared a wide-eyed look for Brendon. When he met her eyes, she looked back down to her pan quickly. “How did that come about, anyway? You don’t seem like the type to throw yourself overboard, from what Ian says, anyway.”

“Minor disagreement with my captain.” Brendon turned the bowl to help her scrape the edges more easily.

“Not to call you a _liar_ or imply anything about your character, but I can’t imagine something less than treason warranting that type of punishment.” She scraped the last bit from the bowl and stepped back.

Brendon replaced the bowl, licking really delicious chocolate from his fingertips. “It may have been coming on for a while. A few of us took off for the skies pretty early on, using Captain Ross’ inheritance to fund us. We built up a little trading company. I worked on keeping the ship running, mostly. I wanted Ryan to put us into port in Chicago for a month so I could try some things with the engines.”

“You got punished for a suggestion?” Greta’s voice lilted in a way that wasn’t so much a question as a courtesy to show she was paying attention.

“Not exactly,” Brendon muttered. The next part was where he knew he looked like an asshole. To avoid looking at her, Brendon lifted the pan. “Where does this go?”

“Oh, here.” Greta moved to pull the heavy-looking oven door down.

Brendon focused on sliding the pan onto the rack situated in the center. “I was sick of making half-assed repairs so I… Well, I changed some things. Made some, um, unapproved plans?”

Greta snorted. “Like what?”

“I cancelled a shipment, ordered some parts, and reserved a dock for two and a half weeks. I probably would have died if Ross’ partner didn’t make sure you were flying under us; Tom’s good that way, even if he ranks somewhere around sixth on the ship.” Closing the oven, Brendon stared at the handle, studying the way his knuckles went white around it.

“You don’t do thing by halves, do you, Brendon?”

“Not really my style, so no.”

Surprisingly, Greta laughed, bright and melodic. “At least you had good intentions.”

“Yeah, that’s always my downfall.” Before he could cringe at his own unintentional pun, Greta giggled. When he looked up, Greta was smiling at him and shaking her head.

“I like you. You’re interesting.”

“That’s sort of a downfall, too.”

Greta opened her mouth just as the door swung open. A tall man with dark hair and weirdly immaculate clothing slid into the room. His top hat was at a jaunty angle; Brendon wanted to know his ways.

“Gee, we’re about to dock.”

“How many times have I told you _not to call me that_?” Greta rolled her eyes and took a moment to peer in at her cake. “I have time to go see everyone off. Dallon, you want to show Brendon around?”

“Brendon!” Dallon’s entire face lit up; it was only mildly frightening. “Ian thinks we’re going to be a rag-tag band of misfits. Come, let me show you my ways.”

“No,” Greta snapped but sounded fond. “Absolutely no corrupting the new people. We’ve discussed this.”

“No one lets me have any fun,” Dallon sighed. Rallying, he shrugged and nodded toward the door. “Want the grand tour? It usually takes Greta and Victoria a while to shuffle all the civilians out.”

“Pretty sure you’re all civilians,” Brendon pointed out, “but I could go for that.”

When Dallon laughed, Brendon felt himself relax by degrees. They followed Greta out, turning opposite directions at the fork in the corridor.

 

****

Apparently, the _Gold Motel_ wasn’t actually very large. Possibly, Dallon was just a really shitty tour guide. By Brendon’s best estimate, Dallon had taken all of fifteen minutes to show him everything below deck. Victoria’s bridge and the actual steam engines were on the main deck, waiting for Brendon to catch a look. Admittedly, he was really fucking excited about the engines.

Brendon didn’t have a huge amount of experience, but he’d seen a few ships. No two engines were exactly the same. The general concept was a constant, but each mechanic tended to add their own specifications and modifications.

When they cleared the landing at the top of the stairs, Brendon expected the place to be deserted. It was getting late, gas lamps burning in various stationary positions around the ship. The orbs seemed tiny in the black creeping in from Lake Michigan, but it wasn’t anything Brendon hadn’t seen before. He’d stop to enjoy the view if/when his head was clearer.

There was only a small crowd remaining on deck. Everyone Brendon had met thus far was gathered into a small cluster by a movable ramp leading presumably to a deck. People disembarking before a ship had fully landed was strange, but Brendon had travelled with Ryan and Tom long enough to stop thinking too much about protocols.

The crowd parted just enough for Brendon to catch sight of a burly, blond man at the edge of the ramp. He wore a fancy jacket over a faded shirt and half undone cravat. His hair fell into his eyes until he shook it back, chuckling quietly at something Greta was saying.

The dark-haired woman from before – Victoria, apparently – leaned in to hug the man as Greta stretched up to kiss his cheek. A light, peppy voice called up from the dock, but Brendon wasn’t close enough to hear what she said. Seconds later, the man was disappearing down the ramp, everyone shouting farewells behind him.

“Who’s that?” Brendon asked when Dallon had stopped yelling.

“Bob. He’s our engineer. Fucking amazing with everything.”

Greta glanced back over her shoulder and motioned them forward while Dallon continued.

“Just got married. We had his reception today. He’s taking off for a while, but we don’t think he’ll really come back after the honeymoon.”

Brendon bit his lip and nodded, coming to a stop behind Ian and looking over his head to watch Bob disappear behind a woman into a tavern. “The airship life isn’t for everyone. Some people are more stationary than that.”

“We don’t go far,” Victoria snorted. “Hi, by the way. Glad you didn’t die. I hate having to deal with the investigators.”

“I hate dealing with funeral directors,” Brendon shrugged. “Everyone wins here.”

Head tilted, Victoria shot him a sharp grin that reminded Brendon of Nate when he was feeling particularly surly. “I like you, sardonic and tiny one. Greta! Keep track of him. He’s fun.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Greta rolled her eyes. Victoria winked and trotted back across the deck, presumably to bring them into a proper docking station.

Ian knocked his shoulder into Brendon’s. “Vicky-T’s going to land us then probably get drunk in the lounge. People usually start playing shit and singing off-key.” Ian grabbed Dallon’s arm, tugging him by the elbow toward the stairs.

Brendon raised his eyebrows at Greta, who shrugged.

“My crew is kind of random, but they keep the guests entertained.” She reached out to pull a glittering silver chain. With each tug, the ramp lifted until it more or less slotted into place along the railing.

“What do you do, anyway?” Try as he might, Brendon hadn’t been able to figure it out.

“Party barge.” When Brendon coughed to cover a laugh, she smacked his arm. “It’s a good idea! We never have to leave the greater Chicago area, but people pay us to cater their parties and fly them around for a bit.”

“Plus, you get to bake.”

Greta grinned. “That too. We usually play a few songs for them, but I left Dallon and Ian to cover it tonight. Victoria might have jumped in on the piano, but I’m not sure. I skipped it.” She gestured for Brendon to follow her and started walking.

Brendon nodded along as they approached the stairs. “God, I miss playing.”

Greta briefly paused to give him a disbelieving smile. “You play?”

“Piano, guitar, percussion. I sing.” Brendon snorted a laugh at himself. “I had grand schemes of being in a band.

“Oh, you’re going to get along just fine with us,” she promised as she skipped down a few more stairs.

Brendon shook his head, a little shell-shocked about how welcoming everyone had been so far. Remembering his manners, Brendon said “I’ll be out of your hair as soon as I can...”

“No worries. It’s not like we’re short on space,” Greta shrug. Looking back over her shoulder, she smiled at him. “Hang out until you heal up and find something else to do. We’re not too bothered. You can help us wait tables or perform or bake or something.”

When they’d dropped a level, Brendon looked over at her. “I have to ask. You skipped playing to bake?”

“Oh shit! My cake!” Eyes comically wide, she pointed down the hall. “They’re probably in the lounge. I’ll see you later! We have a birthday party on deck tomorrow, and I can’t afford to ruin my cake!”

She was off running, rounding a corner before Brendon could distract himself from the way her hair bounced enough to say something in return. With nothing better to do with his time – other than follow Greta and maybe stare at her a bit longer – Brendon followed her directions until he heard Dallon cackling loud enough to nearly drown out Ian’s excited chatter.

****

Shuffling into the kitchen the next morning, Brendon tried to remember when he’d last slept so well on an airship. He wasn’t sure if it was because they were docked with silent engines or the trauma of crashing into a table, but something about the atmosphere was just plain comforting. Granted, that might have also been the comfortably furnished guest room or the worn-in pajamas he’d borrowed from Ian. Whatever the case, Brendon wasn’t about to start complaining now.

There were already voices rising from the kitchen and the scent of fresh bread wafting out into the hall; Brendon could get used to this.

When he pushed into the room, conversation momentarily stopped. Ian glanced up, jam smeared over his chin.

Brendon raised an eyebrow. “Seriously? You gave me heat for being covered in icing?”

“To be fair, you crushed a wedding cake,” Greta pointed what appeared to be a cranberry scone at Brendon.

He grinned a little at his shoes, refusing to blush. Not being one to let anything set him back, Brendon snatched the scone and bit into it, obnoxiously. Whatever smart-ass comment he’d been building died on his tongue.

After spending a good minute staring intently at the pastry, he caught Greta’s eyes. “This is amazing. What is it?”

“You’re not allergic to nuts are you?” She asked, anxious and concerned. Her face was ridiculously open, emotions flowing all over it; it was refreshing. When Brendon shook his head, she sighed. “Oh, good. It’s the combination of nuts that give it the flavor.”

“You should be selling these things in a bakery.” Brendon slid onto a stool opposite Ian and took the cup of coffee Ian slid across the surface. “You could make a killing on these every morning.”

“We do pretty well,” Greta shrugged. Her face was tinted a warm pink that made her eyes stand out even more. Jesus, Brendon could stare at her forever.

Except, that was rude, and Brendon did have the basic manners of a toddler.

“Greta likes the skies,” Ian snorted. “She wants to touch the stars.”

“Oh, hush.” Greta flicked crumbs in Ian’s general direction. “I just like looking at the skyline without all the buildings in the way. There’s nothing wrong with that, Ian.”

Brendon had always liked airships for the freedom and the engines, but Greta’s reasons were a lot more poetic. “Absolutely nothing.” When Greta favored him with a wide smile, Brendon sent her a wink over his mug.

Scooting her stool a few inches closer, Greta started to lean in but was unceremoniously cut short.

“We have a problem,” Victoria declared. She looked... She looked far less put together than she had the night before. Her hair was only half-up, most of it falling in frizzy curls around her face. There were smears of grease across her cheek and up her arms. Her clothes were spotted with tiny holes and larger wet patches.

Ian dropped his head to the table. “Don’t say it. Don’t even fucking say it.”

“We have some burst pipes. I don’t know what the hell is going on up there,” she sighed and threw her hands around in gestures even Greta seemed confused by. “Dallon’s crawling under everything on my bridge looking for cogs and bolts.”

Greta was on her feet, checking whatever was in the over and beginning to pull her hair back. “Is it just the one or did we lose both sides this time?”

Victoria shrugged. “So far, we’re down one propeller, but I don’t trust that we won’t lose the other if it’s trying to balance for this one.”

Even Ian was starting to look nervous and green at the prospect of their engines being down .They’d been kind enough to make sure Brendon didn’t die; he could at least try to repay them. He cleared his throat.

“Want me to take a look?”

Victoria cocked her head to the side. “You know mechanics?”

“I was an engineer until I fell from grace.” Brendon smirked when Ian laughed. “I could give it a go.”

“Brendon, that would be amazing,” Greta grinned. She reached out to tug at his sleeve. “We could call Bob in, but it’s his honeymoon, and we have to learn how to get by without him anyway.”

“We need a replacement, is what we need,” Victoria muttered. Brendon chose to ignore her.

“It’s not a problem. It’s probably just an easy fix.”

****

It wasn’t an easy fix.

Wedged between the deck and a complicated looking board, Brendon almost wanted to admit defeat. There was water dripping from a few pipes, plopping in large drops against his forehead every other second.

There was steam gushing from somewhere to the left, a few gears whining with the effort to turn, and the entire engine mainframe was hot enough that Brendon had started worrying about melting the connection pieces that weren’t copper.

This didn’t look good, and Dallon’s continued hovering had helpfully provided Brendon with the information that they had less than 10 hours to get everything repaired

“What do you think? We have a stash of parts somewhere…”

“Victoria showed me,” Brendon yelled from his tight, little corner.

“We should have everything, right?” Hope was dripping from each of Dallon’s syllables. “Bob kept us pretty well stocked.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Brendon wriggled and stretched until he finally managed to pull himself free. He gasped in a few breaths of humid, mostly clean air. Dallon leaned over to help Brendon to his feet, but Brendon waved him off. His body was aching more than it had that morning and sudden movements were not going to be an option.

“We can’t cancel,” Greta cut in from somewhere near the door. “Brendon, we can’t cancel. This is one of the Chicago elite. If we botch this, we’ll start losing clientele.” She hitched her skirt up enough to kneel beside Brendon; Dallon stepped back to accommodate her. “Brendon, there’s _got_ to be something.”

Brendon rolled his head to the side, glancing up until he saw the near-desperation in Greta’s brown eyes. Taking a moment to chew on his lower lip, Brendon tried to work out some fast repairs that wouldn’t send them all to a watery grave.

“How into experimental mechanics are you?”

Greta puffed out her cheeks and shrugged. “The ones that got you thrown from a ship?”

“No, the ones I was so insistent on that I basically mutinied and got thrown overboard.”

“That’s kind of hard logic to argue against, Gee,” Dallon said. Greta didn’t fuss over the nickname; she must have been more worried than Brendon had already thought.

“Could you pull it off? Would it work and not get us all drowned?” Her voice was hesitant and guarded, but Brendon could work with that.

“You’re running on old parts,” Brendon explained. “Some rust led to a blocked pipe that caused a backup. The force behind it tried to turn the gears the wrong way until everything jammed. They finally gave up and started popping off.” Brendon struggled to his feet, stretching his arms up over his head and ignoring the greased-up state of his borrowed pajamas. “It’s going to be close, but I can replace it, throw in a few upgrades and oil the parts you still have working.”

Greta turned to look up at Dallon. His hands were in his hair, a nervous gesture Brendon had been watching him repeat for the past hour. When he nodded, Greta looked back up at Brendon. “Can you find the parts?”

Reaching for her hands, Brendon tugged her up. She was a lot lighter than he’d expected, tumbling against Brendon’s chest before she caught her feet. Brendon’s breath caught, and it took a physical effort to keep himself from wrapping his arms tight around her shoulders.

_Get it together, Urie_ , he thought.

Clearing his throat, Brendon nodded. “I may know a couple guys.”

****

They all lost a very valuable hour or so while Brendon dragged Ian off to help him convince the Ways to sell him the stock he’d ordered for Ryan’s ship. Luckily, Ian knew Chicago weirdly well for a transplant and got them there. Gerard’s chatter was where the delay came in.

“Urie! Where the hell have you been?” Gerard called from across his shop the second Brendon cleared the door.

Brendon scratched at his neck. “That depends on if you’ve seen Ryan and Tom yet.”

“Spencer, too,” Mikey threw in from behind a pile of clocks he was probably trying to repair.

“Fuck. Spencer’s back?” Brendon hoped he hadn’t gone as pale as he felt.

“Mm hm. Wasn’t too happy with you or Ryan, apparently. He spent – what, an hour? – a while talking Gerard out of forcing the sell to go through.”

Mikey might not have been yelling, but Brendon felt appropriately chastised anyway.

“Yeah, about that…”

Gerard climbed over his counter, tugging Brendon into a hug. “Don’t worry about it. Mikey talked Pete into returning the merchandise.”

“No! We need that!” Ian threw in, entirely too frantic if they’d been talking to anyone other than Gerard.

The Ways turned to look at Ian; Ian cleared his throat and waved. “Er. What I meant to say was _hi, I’m Ian. I helped keep Brendon from dying._ ”

“Ah. We always appreciate Brendon managing to stay alive,” Gerard nodded before introducing himself and Mikey.

Normally, Brendon was all for social pleasantries; today was a special case, though.

“Gee, have you sent everything back to the _Retox_ yet? I do actually need all that shit,” his voice was hurried, words blending together. That tended to be Gerard’s default setting, though, so it didn’t seem to cause any problems.

“Pete and Patrick are coming by tonight for dinner,” Mikey explained. “We were just going to send it then.”

“Great. Don’t. Uh, I need the parts. Kind of desperately.” Brendon didn’t like to beg, but he wasn’t above it.

Gerard raised his eyebrows. “Can you pay for it this time? That was a pretty shitty thing you did…”

“I know!” Brendon whined, but Ian cut him off with “Put it on the _Gold Motel_ ’s account. Greta’s good for it.”

They all stood in an awkward silence for a while before Gerard snorted. “She’s never let me down before. All right.” Already heading for the back room, Gerard gave Mikey instructions on changing the records of the sell.

Mikey rolled his eyes but shuffled around until he found their ledgers. “You should come for dinner. Everyone wants to know what the fuck’s been going on with you. Frank kept making up increasingly ridiculous stories until Gerard dragged him to bed.” To his credit, Mikey only winced a little when talking about his brother’s sex life.

“There’s dinner on the ship,” Ian explained. “But, I mean, you don’t _have_ to be there or anything.”

Brendon tried to ignore the way Ian sounded a bit disappointed. Smiling, half-fake and half-relieved that his semi-friends hadn’t written him off yet, he nodded. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll be here.”

He could hear Gerard shifting things in the back, metal clanging against metal and wood.

“I’m going to help him, see if we can get this show on the road.”

Mikey snorted. “Probably a good idea.”

****

There were less than nine hours left for Brendon to magic up a working steam engine. He’d done more with less, he figured, and got down to business.

The hard part was pulling the unusable parts from the system. If he pulled too much, he’d never get it back together in time; leaving the wrong pieces meant causing the whole catastrophe to repeat itself.

With Greta wandering in with snacks whenever she found a break in her cooking, Victoria lingering between gas-lamp refills, Ian chattering about Gerard and Mikey’s dinner invitation whenever Brendon needed a brief respite, and Dallon taking up space but trying to hand Brendon all the right tools: Brendon was surprised he was making any progress at all.

It was daunting trying to fix what looked like years of careful repairs to offset aging technologies. He didn’t want to fail this, fail Greta and her crew, but time kept ticking and tension kept building in density.

Brendon hardly stopped, kept double-checking his work until he could hear the clocks chime the final hour.

When Greta showed up all bouncing curls and a spotless dress, she didn’t even say anything, just looked at Brendon with big, sad eyes.

Brendon chuckled from his place leaning against a table leg. “You’re good.”

“Yeah? You fixed it?” Her entire demeanor changed: face lighting up, shoulders dropping a few notches, and hand fluttering around her throat.

“You’re good to board, ma’am.”

Greta started across the room, practically running before she skidded to a stop, narrowly avoiding crushing his knee. “I’d hug you, but I don’t have time to change, and you’re a mess.” Instead, she leaned down enough to press a lingering kiss to Brendon’s cheek. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Brendon mumbled and tried to ignore the way his cheeks heated.

“I’m going to mention it _a lot_ ,” Greta whispered against his ear, a promise. “Just, you know, not when I have a bunch of baby socialites waiting to climb on board.”

“You should probably take care of that.” Brendon wrapped his fingers around her wrist, giving her a light squeeze. “I’ll get Victoria to fire her up.”

Greta kissed his cheek again, flouncing toward the door before Brendon even gained his feet. “Bren… Thank you. You don’t know… Thank you,” she nodded.

Brendon was starting to get used to her disappearing around corners before his brain and mouth could reach an agreement on what to say.

****

By the time Brendon climbed out of a warmer-than-expected shower, he could hear music and chatter from above deck.Whatever Greta had been so worried about was pretty clearly unfounded.

He tugged on clothes he’d borrowed from Dallon and Ian, hoping he could find a way to buy some new things or get his from the _Candlestick Swan_. If he got lucky, maybe he could talk Pete into calling in a favor with Ryan or get Patrick to talk reason with Spencer, who hadn’t even been there at the time and was likely to be easily convinced.

Hair combed carefully back and one of Dallon’s polka dot bow ties securely in place, Brendon took a breath and hoped they hadn’t lifted off yet. The engines were running, but Victoria seemed unwilling to turn them off at this point; Brendon didn’t really blame her.

A tentative knock startled Brendon away from the vanity mirror. He hadn’t shaved, but he’d probably gone weeks without shaving before so. Hopefully, Greta didn’t have a thing against beards. Not that it mattered, not even a little bit.

Brendon pulled the door open to find Greta toying with the miniature top hat she had perched atop her head.

“Hi,” she grinned, shifting on her feet. “We’re about to get under way. Everyone has sat down for dinner, and we’re just about to start the entertainment portion of our typical set up. Want to come watch?”

“Um.” Brendon sighed and ruffled his hair, ruining all his hard work. “I don’t really…”

Greta’s face fell, expression turning neutral and freezing before Brendon could go on.

“I’d love to, really,” Brendon promised, trying to sound as earnest as he knew how. “But Gerard and Mikey asked me to dinner. I need to go. See if I can work some connections and find a permanent position. I can’t keep sponging off you guys.” When Greta parted her lips to speak, Brendon rushed to finish. “I’ve really appreciated it, really. But it isn’t fair to you or anyone else on board.”

“Oh,” Greta sighed. Backing up a few steps, she refused to let Brendon meet her eyes. “Absolutely. You should visit with your friends. See what you can make happen. That’s a good idea, Brendon.”

Something felt _off_ about her tone, her sentences oddly clipped. Not knowing what to do about it, Brendon just shrugged and closed his door behind him. “I’ll see you later?”

Greta nodded and offered up a smile that didn’t make her eyes twinkle or her nose scrunch up.

“Great.” Things hadn’t been this awkward since he’d crash-landed into a wedding cake. Brendon leaned down to place a quick kiss against Greta’s forehead.

“Great, yeah. I’m off.” Brendon nodded, decisive, and tried not to look like he was running away.

Whatever he was running _from_ must have been in his subconscious because he couldn’t – for the life of him – place what it was.

****

Some time after midnight, Brendon stumbled his way across the deck and up the ramp to the _Gold Motel_. He wasn’t sure if he’d expected them to lock him out, but he was glad they hadn’t.

There were very few lights along the deck, even fewer burning aboard the airship at this time of night, but Brendon managed to use the rope railing as a guide.

He took a moment to pull the ramp up, securing it in place as best he could. Maybe he should have had Greta teach him the mechanics of it last night. Not that he was going to need it in the future but still.

Rolling his shoulders, Brendon stretched his arms up as high as he could, groaning as his back cracked. Most of the soreness had dissipated, but his muscles still enjoyed being extended.

Brendon lowered his arms and squinted into the dark, trying to find a lamp to help him find his way to the stairs. Before he’d managed as much, Brendon caught sight of a tiny pinprick of light around a corner and behind the rows of tables no one had bothered to tear down.

There was a shadowed figure seated on a tabletop just left of the lamp, but Brendon had to carefully pick his way through the set-up before he could make out Greta’s silhouette.

“You’re up late.”

Greta twisted around to look at him, her face hidden by shadows and a cascade of hair. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Couldn’t sleep because you were working,” Brendon asked, “or because you weren’t tired?”

“I don’t know. I think I was just waiting for you.” She sighed and turned back to stare at the line of docked airships before them and the lake reflecting the moon somewhere a bit off in the distance. “I didn’t want to leave the ramp down if no one was around.”

Something uncomfortable filled Brendon’s chest, squeezing at his heart until he felt a bit empty. He climbed up onto the table, settling down beside Greta. She spared him a glance but didn’t speak again. For long moments, Brendon watched her watch the mostly starless sky.

The wind picked up, cool air blowing in from the lake and not hindered by the buildings that cropped up further inland. Greta shivered, rubbing at the goosebumps lining her arms.

“Here,” Brendon said. He shrugged out of his dark trench – snatched from Mikey – and draped it over her shoulders.

Greta tugged the coat tighter around her body and finally looked over. “You found a job, then?”

Brendon cleared his throat and thought about Gerard’s offers, about what he could find to do in Chicago. It was a big city; Brendon was good with machines, could jump onto ships or fall into mechanical work. Somewhere, Brendon could find something without even bothering to impose on the Ways’ hospitality.

“Not yet. Gerard and Mikey offered me a place to stay and a part-time assistantship to take care of their clocks. Maybe some specialty work if someone makes a request they’re uncomfortable with.” Brendon tried to meet her eyes while he explained, but the weird guilt he felt made him nervous.

Greta nodded, turning more fully until she had one knee on the table and was facing him. “Bob came by. He had to pick up a few more things before his trip.”

Brendon’s brow furrowed. “Um. Okay.”

“He checked out your work. He was impressed and nothing impresses Bob,” Greta laughed, just a soft puff of sound. “Said he never would have gone with the mods you made, wasn’t familiar with your style. Ian told him he’s old and set in his ways.”

“I think that’s why Ryan was weird about what I wanted to do,” Brendon tried to explain. “I know it’s all technically sound, but it’s different.”

“I like that, though.” She seemed earnest, all wide eyes and benign – somehow sincere – smile. She reached out, dropping a hand to his forearm. “Thank you. Again, by the way. Victoria’s raving about the way we’re running now. None of us realized how badly off we were until you fixed everything.”

Brendon shook his head, placing a hand over hers. He tried to ignore the slight jolt he got when he linked his fingers through hers. “I was happy to. Honestly. You’re welcome, but I owed you guys. And it was _fun_. I haven’t had that much fun in… a while.”

“You cursed and complained the whole time,” she giggled. “Dallon told me.”

Luckily, it was too dark for her to see the color flooding his cheeks. “Yeah, but don’t you ever get annoyed with your cakes? You get pissed off while you’re doing it, but the… _pride_ when it’s done well? That’s worth all the irritation.”

“Yeah, it is.” Greta squeezed his fingers. She took a deep breath and shook her hair from her face. Tilting her head back, she stared at the sky again. “I think I’m really going to miss you when you’re gone.”

Brendon followed her lead, watching the quiet sky. He was always surprised when the air-traffic slowed down in the evening. When too long had passed, Brendon nodded.

“I’ll miss you, too.” He pretended he could make out the others hollering and carrying on in the lounge below deck. “I’ll miss all of you. But it’s not like I’m going anywhere.”

“But you fit,” Greta said. Sliding closer, Greta settled her head against Brendon’s shoulder. “You fit with us. We need an engineer, and you need an engine room.”

Slipping his arm underneath the jacket, Brendon wrapped his arm around her waist. He pulled her just that last bit closer.

“Are you asking me to stay? Instead of only coming ‘round to ask you to dinner?” Brendon didn’t hold his breath when he asked, but he _was_ overly aware of each slow inhale and sharp exhale.

Tilting her head back, her nose brushed Brendon’s cheek. “I’m saying yes, if you’re really asking.” Her voice was barely a whisper, but Brendon was close enough to feel the consonants puff against his skin.

“I’m asking.”

Feeling bold, sure he couldn’t be misreading signals even though he usually did, Brendon cupped her cheek. As his fingers slipped into her hair, Greta’s eyelashes fluttered and chin lifted. She licked her lips just before Brendon closed in. It was soft, a light brush of lips against lips. They moved carefully and pulled away far too soon. Brendon sighed against her mouth and leaned their foreheads together.

Greta shook her head; Brendon grinned when her hair tickled his nose.


End file.
